Through the Fire and the Flames
by Attack of the Feels
Summary: *WARNING* *SPOILER ALERT* Based on event in Series 3 episode 1 *SPOILER ALERT* *WARNING* A slight twist on the events of the 4th November - time is running out


***WARNING SPOILERS AHEAD***

***WARNING SPOILERS***

***WARNING* **

**Authors Note: The following fan fiction is based on an event out of Season 3 Episode 1 - Do not read for it spoils the episode! I was asked to write this immediately after the episode aired which I was disturbed about for my friends sanity but none the less here it is as a one shot**

**As always I do not own anything to do with Sherlock, nor am I making any profit from it - simply satisfying those with a dark, disturbed mind. **

**I hope you enjoy. **

* * *

**Through the Fire and the Flames**

* * *

Mary's grip tightened around Sherlock as he sped through the streets of London showing him text messages as they came.

_Stay of execution. you've got two more minutes_

_'That's more than enough.'_ Sherlock wasn't one to give moral support to anyone (including himself) but two minutes… he swerved off the road and into an underpass - he could cut his estimated time of arrival by 5 minutes, giving him time to spare… '_No, there wasn't time.'_

What had he done wrong? Moriarty's Network had been taken care of - he'd spent the last two years tracking them how could he have missed one?! Or what if it was more than one? Two? Three? A hidden organisation?! He shook the thought out of his head, it didn't matter now John needed him. It was this fault this was happening and he had to stop it.

Why a countdown - Thrill of the chase? A bomb? The image of John wearing that vest laced with all those destructive devices shot into his head, when they stood opposite each other, at the poolside. Sherlock grit his teeth, getting emotional wasn't going to help. He still had the two minutes. Sherlock felt Mary's grip change behind him as her phone beeped again. As long as they kept receiving texts John was safe. He had to be.

A man stepped back from the bonfire admiring his work as he threw the torch on to the top of the fire after he'd circled the stack. The fuel ignited burning faster, catching the branches, crates and the under turns of black denim.

_What a shame Mr Holmes. John is quite a Guy!_

"What does it mean?" Mary asked and Sherlock knew exactly. He cursed, their time was up. He had to figure out were John was before they arrived. Whoever this was they were enjoying this. No how could they? How could they know they were on their way? Spies perhaps - Sherlock's reckless driving was bound to have caught someones unwanted attention. His mind raced as he tried to put the pieces together.

Smoke had started to gather, the draft swallowed by the flames pushed deeper into the stack. The crowd roared and cheered at the site, the flames rapidly engulfing the crafted Guy Fawkes.

Perhaps more skip code…

_**Getting**__ warmer Mr __**Holmes**__ You have__** about**__ ten minutes_

_**8**__ minutes and __**counting**_

_**Better**__ hurry things __**are**__ hotting up __**here**__…_

_**Stay**__ of execution. __**you've**__ got two __**more**__ minutes_

_**What**__ a shame __**Mr**__ Holmes. John __**is**__ quite a __**Guy!**_

It didn't make sense. Nonsense sentencing.

John could feel the heat now, his right leg stung and he struggled to pat it out against the debris surrounding him. He breathed in deep, wincing as the smoke roamed into his lungs. With a harsh cry for help he screamed again, to anyone that could listen. To anyone that would in this festive occasion still have room for a thought or idea that something so dark and horrific would occur.

'_John is quite the guy!_' No

_'a guy!'_ Sherlock corrected himself dwelling on the wording. Capital G.

'_Guy!_' -Sherlocks' eyes glared at the road as he recognised the reference to Guy Fawkes. It had to be a bomb.

John heard a scream. A child's scream - a part of him dying inside for multiple reasons. Firstly, out of sadness for the child. If his mind had a moment of reflection after this he couldn't help but picture their wide eyes in wonder gaze wider in fear, their innocence destroyed. If he got out he would have plenty of time. The other was anguish for himself. Would parents believe their child screaming for the life of someone caught in the fire? John would have laughed if he could. Who knows, after spending time so long making the Fawkes dummy children could have grown attached to it, wanting to rescue their friend. Parents wouldn't likely jump into the fire to save their child's imagination.

_'But in a church?'_ Sherlock questioned. That wasn't how the story went. It was November 5th tomorrow so seasonal. Besides their time was over by a good 1 minute 47 seconds and counting. Despite the very good quality helmets they wore there was no sound of any bomb detention. But why-

John gasped. In his efforts to put out the growing fire on his leg he had ignited a spot of untouched fuel around him, quickly blinding him on the right side of his face.

The bike swerved around the corner nearing the church as they continued round a block of houses overlooking a small green park. From a distance it looked like a merry gathering, sparklers, toffee apples and of course a decent size bonfire continuing to burn…

_Better hurry __**things are hotting up here…**_

_Stay of __**execution**__. _

_What a shame Mr Holmes. __**John is quite a Guy!**_

Sherlock's eyes widened at the sight again of the bonfire. "Oh my God-"

John gagged, the smoke choking him as his body went numb from the scorching pain. He gasped again, coughing violently in-between screams. He choked, forcing himself to sit up and cried as the little space he had was no more, the fire lit timbers caved in above him.

Sherlock turned into the park tilting to the left "Stand back-" he called behind him as they jumped off the bike throwing his helmets to the floor. He knew he was in the right place simply by the noise of the crowd. Silence between small whispers murmurs.

John continued his efforts to curl in a ball, move the pieces off him but to no avail. His body was numb as he continued to hear the hiss and spitting of the fire.

"Move. Move!" Sherlock never ran so fast barging past the spectators not a clue in the world. Mary stuck close behind in the corner of her eye seeing a little girl run out of her fathers arms and to the edge of the park, she thought nothing of it.

Through shallow breaths he felt his head spinning: his vision clouded, by smoke or lack of oxygen to his brain - he didn't care anymore. He breathed in deep before coughing violently again.

"John!"

"John!?"

Both Mary and Sherlock cried as they pushed through the crowd, torches pointed at the fire quickly turned, lighting Sherlock's face, blinding him a little as the fire burned fiercely.

"Get up John!" Mary cried again into the fire, praying her words would confirm John's location. There was no response, to which she was hopeful, not wanting to doubt Sherlock but as John didn't respond - he must be somewhere else. Her eyes wandered back to Sherlock who was now circling the fire rapidly. The look in his eyes confirmed the worse.

Through the crackling and hissing of the fire John could have sworn he heard his name, calling out to him. His body refused to shout out again, refused him to take another deep breath to scream. "Sherlock…" his words slurred as he lowered his head to the side, his body shutting down "… mary" he barely murmured as his eyes rolled shut.

Zoe reached into her fathers bag that was safely put under the tables used earlier that evening and pulled out a phone dialling 999 "Am… ambulance" she nervously cried into the phone before answering any questions on the end of the line. She looked back to the fire as she saw the crowd step back a little.

Sherlock saw an untouched by the flames and pushed the branches to the side, digging deeper into the fire. He shook some burning embers off his gloves as they moved a burning crate. Mary's cries continued behind as she too made efforts in helping Sherlock. She kicked some of the burning debris to the side allowing Sherlock closer access to him.

Mary soon caught sight of the casual military styled jacket he regularly wore and stepped back as Sherlock reached in. He grabbed the untouched shoulder pad and pulled hard. Mary saw the rubble on to of the bonfire wobble a little. John was an anchor point in the fire, a dangerous piece that shouldn't be moved to stop the stack from toppling. Her gloved hands clasped to her mouth in fear as she watched Sherlock struggle to pull him out.

With a cry Sherlock tugged hard and nearly fell to the floor as John's body followed suite. Sherlock picked himself up and moved further away from the fire, dragging John with him. Cries were heard from all the crowd, some as the bonfire toppled in the opposite direction, others at the scene before them.

Satisfied with the distance Sherlock careful laid John down patting out the fire on his clothes with Mary's help. Sherlock's heart sank, John was unresponsive to the fire burning at his clothes, even from the heat the nervous system should have made an effort to put them out, remove him from the danger. Together they rolled John on to his back and Sherlock's heart sank even further, simply at the force he had to use to do so. The resistance didn't make Sherlock hopeful.

He though he was going to be sick, John's eyes were closed, a trail of crisp blood likely dried out the fire was set on his forehead and half his face looked charred - Mary prayed it was just the light on him, making his burns look worse. She quickly reached for his untouched hand, pulling it up and running her fingers on his wrist checking for a pulse. Sherlock in the meantime placed his hand gently on his cheek, encouraging him to open his eyes. There wasn't a response for either of them as they called to him, pleading him to open his eyes, squeeze his hand, something. Sherlock's pleas in denial sunk to a whisper before raising into anger. "John-!" Mary had watched Johns still chest and leaned forward, her ear hovering in front of his nose.

Sherlock stopped and looked to her. "What are you-?"

"He has a small pulse but he's not breathing, his heart will stop beating soon." She said as she tilted John's head back a little before handing Sherlock her phone "Here, call an ambulance whilst I-" she continued, placing two fingers on the un-burnt side of his neck "John-! Sweetie can you hear me? I need you to open your eyes." She called as she shook him gently.

Sherlock watched as he waited for the phone to dial. Question, command, shake. Despite the fact it was obvious John was not responding Mary was keeping to the rule book of CPR - she probably hadn't done this before in a real world situation. "Ambulance." Sherlock instructed as he watched her. 30 compression, 2 breaths. That was all of his understanding of CPR, he simply had never given it any thought to learn. After all, the only people he worked with were fully living or stone dead, never on the brink.

"An ambulance is already heading for your location Sir." Sherlock hung up the phone. He could see Mary was getting tired and so he knelt closer as she proceeded to place her lips on his again, pinching John's nose. Sherlock copied Mary's earlier form and waited for her command. It was harder than he thought, keep his ears open for Mary's guidance as they worked together. They had worked for 5 minutes now with still no response.

The blue lights bounced off the windows and within minutes a qualified team had joined them. Mary quickly got out of their way but Sherlock hesitated, almost not trusting them, worried they'd hurt him further. One of the paramedics the guided Sherlock away from John, he felt so hopeless. Is this how John felt? How he lost trust in the professionals around him, desperate to reach him.

Sherlock understood. He lowered his eyes back onto John now with a mask over his face and watched as they carried him into the ambulance. John was in safe hands, Guys and St. Thomas' Hospital was over the river and a few junctions, less than 3 miles away. Mary stayed close to him, hopping into the Ambulance as they moved John's bed in. Sherlock just stood there, his eyes never leaving John until two yellow doors blocked his vision. Lights still flashing and siren sounding the Ambulance left.

Sherlock watched the lights fade from the windows of the houses surrounding the greenery. Then, his fists clenched tightly and turned back towards the fire. He looked into the hole where he pulled John out, the mound had already caved in further, burning away any evidence John may have been buried with. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Mary's phone.

_Password_

Sherlock stared down it for a while. 4 characters. '_Just like hers._' Sherlock noted. Het released the keyboard and typed...

**_DJHW _**

...also known as Dr. John Hamish Watson. Sherlock entered the password but it beeped back.

_Denied_

He looked down at it again, puzzled. '_Sometimes a deception is so audacious, so outrageous that you can't see it even when it's staring you in the face._' Sherlock recalled John saying as an actuate imitation of him at a party years ago when they laughed over several cases it Sherlock a while longer to close. hat was his excuse, as he liked to put it. Oh how he longed to hear that very impressed whiny voice during their cases, the faces he'd pull in confusion before hand were the best though. The sound he made when he got always made him smile. Sherlock sighed, looking back to the phone.

'_So what if it was much simpler?_' Sherlock thought to himself.

**JOHN**

The phone opened to its menu immediately Sherlock looked into the messages. There wasn't a new one since the incident, Sherlock looked to the number 'Unknown' He thought as much. He would have Lestrade look into the number, see if it could be traced at all. Sighing in defeat for now he placed the phone back in his pocket and left the sight. The ground was too worn to make out footprints of the henchmen that did this, he could have questioned the crowd members but in time. Despite how well he thought he'd contained his mind he couldn't keep his thoughts of John. He walked past the motorbike still sprawled out where it was left and walked to the Hospital.

Sherlock at times hated his talents in deduction, it felt at times he couldn't turn them off. The look on the paramedics faces as they examined and treated John said one thing loud and clear. '_Dead'_

Perhaps that's why he refused to leave John's side. For he knew the immediate analysis from the paramedic team, assumed they would therefore not put all their effort in to save him and confirm John as dead upon arrival. At least at the time Sherlock was willing to try. The thoughts continued to mull over in his head and before he knew it he was at the foot of the hospital door. He knew what was waiting him.

He had guessed where they'd be keeping John and he soon found Mary outside in a corridor. She struggled a smile as she saw him approach her. Her daily makeup had smudged from tears as she looked back through the small circular window in the door. The pair stood in silence, watching the doctors at their work. John was lying on a bed perpendicular to the door in the centre of the room, his good half (still burned in some areas) facing them. The right hand side was much worse.

"Sherlock!" He recognised Lestrade's voice from down the corridor as he jogged to meet him. "I heard what happened…John… is he?" Sherlock didn't take his eyes off the door. "He's strong, he'll pull through…" Lestrade nodded, supporting himself probably more than Mary and Sherlock, whom was pretty sure he wouldn't say such things if he saw the right hand side of John, 3rd degree burns, maybe higher. "He's a soldier." Lestrade nodded crossing him arms over his chest before puffing out a forced sigh.

The doctors called the room to clear as John's body was shocked. There was no response. Again they called, shocking with no response. "Oh Jesus." Lestrade struggled to swallow. The silence remained among them, ever watching things as they were coming to the worst.

"They've been at it for 4 minutes now about 3 minutes as well in the ambulance." Mary informed any ears that would listen. Sherlock simply held his hands behind his back as he stood beside her, watching the team resuscitate him. Mary coughed back several tears "And we were at it for a good 6 minutes." She paused, pulling out a tissue from her pocket and dabbing her tears. "You know what that means don't you." She didn't question it, at least not to Sherlock but he followed anyway.

"Total of 13 minutes in attempt to Resuscitate. Anything longer than 10 minutes commonly results in death or severe brain damage." Sherlock concluded and Mary nodded in agreement looking to the ground. Sherlock watched eagerly for a new action, something to break the constant cycle. The doctors and nurses all stepped away from the bed lowering their heads.

Mary struggled to hold back the tears any longer, Lestrade walked behind Sherlock to her, holding her gently against his chest as she looked like she'd fall any minute. He was about to ask Sherlock for help when he saw the blank look on his face. He wished he had his deductions skills or equivalent at times, to see what that genius was really thinking, but he couldn't see. No sooner the leading doctor stepped out of the room towards them with his head low, he didn't need to say anything. It was all too clear.

* * *

**_Fin_**


End file.
